


Occupying Space

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Clothed Sex, Couch Sex, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Lap Sex, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: After a lovely evening spent out together, Aziraphale and Crowley retire to Crowley's flat and his very convenient sofa, and Aziraphale makes himself at home in Crowley's lap.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 205
Collections: GO-Events August 2020: Aziraphale's Attire - He Has *Standards*





	Occupying Space

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YamiSnuffles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/gifts).



> I wrote this for Yami, for her beautiful nsfw art of [A&C on the couch](https://twitter.com/yamispicy/status/1295817669183250434)! The image really stuck with me, so I wanted to get this out for her. ❤️ This also turned into my piece for the Aziraphale's Attire challenge at GO Events. Thanks so much to @cumaeansibyl for the fantastic beta!

They're on the sofa in Crowley's flat, and Crowley has Aziraphale in his lap.

They undressed each other the human way; Crowley got to put his hands on all of Aziraphale's lovely layers. The camel-colored coat, which he wore for their evening out; that wonderfully soft and well-loved velvet waistcoat; the tartan bow tie, which Crowley would have removed with his teeth had Aziraphale not stopped him.

The braces, which now hang loose at Aziraphale's hips. The pale blue dress shirt, and the vest underneath. Crowley took his time with all of them, savoring the experience of unwrapping him.

Aziraphale divested him of his clothes, too, with a little more impatience but just as much care, undoing him with the broad sweep of his hands. Crowley's silver scarf and black shirt now hang over a nearby chair along with Aziraphale's things. It makes him feel fuzzy and complicated inside, but even more than that, he's hard and wanting, eager for whatever else Aziraphale will give him.

"Angel," Crowley murmurs. He slides his mouth against Aziraphale's, just as one of Aziraphale's hands goes into his hair and tangles there. The angle should be awkward, but it's not at all, not with Aziraphale's trouser-clad thigh draped over his, and not with his hands keeping Aziraphale steady on his lap. Aziraphale's still wearing his brogues, which is fair, since Crowley hasn't even gotten his own shoes off in favor of making out.

(In his most secret daydreams, Crowley's imagined Aziraphale coming home here and taking his shoes off at the door, leaving him to move around the flat in his tartan socks like he owns the place. It's a level of intimacy Crowley's barely dared to hope for.)

"Mmmm. You feel good. A wonderful perch." Aziraphale shifts his weight, brushing his bare side tantalizingly against Crowley's chest. "I'm not too heavy for you, am I?"

Crowley nips his bottom lip. "Never. Don't even think that. You're perfect."

He tweaks Aziraphale's pert nipple with his left hand for good measure, then slides that hand down to cradle Aziraphale's ribs as their lips meet again. His skin is so, so soft—softer than it ought to be after sixty centuries of wear and tear, _definitely_ softer than his. Crowley brushes the fingertips of his other hand through Aziraphale's platinum chest hair, which is also unfairly silky.

His hand travels south from there, over the gorgeous, naked curve of Aziraphale's belly and down to toy with the button of Aziraphale's fly. "Let me make you feel good," he murmurs against Aziraphale's lips. "Can I?"

"I rather thought that's where this was heading," Aziraphale remarks, spreading his legs slightly to give Crowley better access.

" _Cheek_." Crowley squeezes Aziraphale's cock through his trousers and finds him hard, the outline of him tenting the tan fabric. Gently, he pops the button free and works the zipper down. It sounds loud and obvious in the quiet of his flat, and Aziraphale squirms with anticipation.

Aziraphale, unlike him, actually wears pants under his trousers. They're white and on the good side of clingy, invitingly so. He dips his hand inside and brushes Aziraphale's cock with his fingertips, a feather-light touch that he knows will get Aziraphale worked up. Aziraphale moans and recaptures his mouth, winding his fingers tighter in Crowley's hair, which only urges him on.

"Come on. Let me see you."

Crowley eases Aziraphale's cock out from its confines. He leaves the clothes on; they'll get there eventually. Right now, all he wants is his hand wrapping around Aziraphale and Aziraphale's hips bucking up to meet him, Aziraphale's soft mouth and clever tongue crushing against his.

His strokes are slow at first, but Crowley quickly finds a rhythm, twisting his hand and gripping harder at the sensitive head, the way Aziraphale likes. Aziraphale pants and moans, his broad chest heaving, completely wanton and exposed in Crowley's lap.

"Crowley… oh… it's so good… _ah_!" Aziraphale's hand, resting on Crowley's knee, holds on a little tighter, like he needs the contact to ground himself. Crowley responds by digging his fingers into the soft flesh of Aziraphale's chest and speeding up his strokes.

It doesn't take much longer. Crowley keeps working him over, listening to Aziraphale's sped-up pulse and feeling the way his body quivers under Crowley's hands, until Aziraphale lets out a low moan directly into Crowley's mouth and spills over his hand. As their kissing slows, Crowley releases Aziraphale's cock and raises his hand to taste his come.

"Delectable," he says, feeling Aziraphale's eyes on him. "A perfect digestif. I ought to make a call at the restaurant we went to tonight, put a bug in their ear."

" _Stop_." Aziraphale shoves lightly at Crowley's chest. "You're horrible." He makes no move to vacate Crowley's lap, though, and Crowley doesn't want him to. Instead, Aziraphale cleans them with a miracle, then leans down and pushes his tongue into Crowley's mouth.

They stay like that for a while longer, just kissing, until Crowley's shifting in his seat underneath him, trying to get some friction going. _He_ hasn't gotten off yet, not that he's complaining, but having Aziraphale on top of him is making his body's needs hard to ignore.

Aziraphale clearly notices, too—difficult not to, when your sofa partner's got his hard-on shoved up against your thigh and bottom. He wiggles in Crowley's lap and grinds down, just enough to tease.

Crowley wars with himself for a moment between taking Aziraphale to bed properly, in his very nice bedroom, and just pushing him over onto the sofa and climbing on top. The sofa wins out when Aziraphale grinds against him again. They can relocate for round two, maybe.

Obligingly, Aziraphale lets Crowley topple them over and even manages to get his shoes off in the process. Crowley follows suit, and Aziraphale reaches for Crowley's trousers once they're settled, clearly game for whatever comes next.

He's careful with Crowley's zipper, like he always is. Somehow, that's the thing that really gets Crowley; he crawls over Aziraphale, enjoying the slide of their trouser fabric moving together, and rubs his cock on the curve of Aziraphale's belly. Fuck, he loves him.

"My turn," Aziraphale says, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He pulls Crowley closer, wrapping both hands around Crowley's hips, and Crowley rocks down against him.

They get wrapped up in each other, still half-dressed there on Crowley's sofa. His cock slides against all that incredibly soft skin; he feels enveloped by Aziraphale, the familiar sight and feel and smell of him, especially when Aziraphale slips his hand between them to take hold of him.

"Angel, fuck." Crowley drops his head down to Aziraphale's collarbones and applies his mouth there while Aziraphale strokes him off. It's so good—Aziraphale knows just how to touch him, how to make him light up from the inside with just that simple act—that Crowley finds himself on the edge in minutes.

When he comes on Aziraphale's hand, spattering onto his fingers and chest, he feels nothing less than wanted, and even more so when he watches Aziraphale delicately swipe up the mess and lap at it, pink tongue extended.

"It seems you were right after all," Aziraphale says.

"Hmmm?" Crowley tilts his head. "Yeah, 'course I was, but right about what?"

"Call the restaurant," Aziraphale says, with that bastard smirk Crowley loves. "This is the perfect ending to our evening."

Crowley groans, tackles him back down onto the sofa cushions, and kisses him again.


End file.
